Mark Twain, a Biography. Complete eBook

It was the next afternoon when they set out for Buffalo,
accompanied by the bride’s parents, the groom’s
relatives, the Beechers, and perhaps one or two others
of that happy company. It was nine o’clock
at night when they arrived, and found Mr. Slee waiting
at the station with sleighs to convey the party to
the “boarding-house” he had selected.
They drove and drove, and the sleigh containing the
bride and groom got behind and apparently was bound
nowhere in particular, which disturbed the groom a
good deal, for he thought it proper that they should
arrive first, to receive their guests. He commented
on Slee’s poor judgment in selecting a house
that was so hard to find, and when at length they turned
into fashionable Delaware Avenue, and stopped before
one of the most attractive places in the neighborhood,
he was beset with fear concerning the richness of
the locality.

They were on the steps when the doors opened, and
a perfect fairyland of lights and decoration was revealed
within. The friends who had gone ahead came out
with greetings, to lead in the bride and groom.
Servants hurried forward to take bags and wraps.
They were ushered inside; they were led through beautiful
rooms, all newly appointed and garnished. The
bridegroom was dazed, unable to understand the meaning
of things, the apparent ownership and completeness
of possession.

At last the young wife put her hand upon his arm:

“Don’t you understand, Youth,” she
said; that was always her name for him. “Don’t
you understand? It is ours, all ours—­everything—­a
gift from father!”

But even then he could not grasp it; not at first,
not until Mr. Langdon brought a little box and, opening
it, handed them the deeds.

Nobody quite remembers what was the first remark that
Samuel Clemens made then; but either then or a little
later he said:

“Mr. Langdon, whenever you are in Buffalo, if
it’s twice a year, come right here. Bring
your bag and stay overnight if you want to. It
sha’n’t cost you a cent!”

They went in to supper then, and by and by the guests
were gone and the young wedded pair were alone.

Patrick McAleer, the young coachman, who would grow
old in their employ, and Ellen, the cook, came in
for their morning orders, and were full of Irish delight
at the inexperience and novelty of it all. Then
they were gone, and only the lovers in their new house
and their new happiness remained.

And so it was they entered the enchanted land.

LXXV

AS TO DESTINY

If any reader has followed these chapters thus far,
he may have wondered, even if vaguely, at the seeming
fatality of events. Mark Twain had but to review
his own life for justification of his doctrine of inevitability
—­an unbroken and immutable sequence of cause
and effect from the beginning. Once he said:

“When the first living atom found itself afloat
on the great Laurentian sea the first act of that
first atom led to the second act of that first atom,
and so on down through the succeeding ages of all life,
until, if the steps could be traced, it would be shown
that the first act of that first atom has led inevitably
to the act of my standing here in my dressing-gown
at this instant talking to you.”